


Yes, Sir

by TheSleepyOne



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mild Language, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleepyOne/pseuds/TheSleepyOne
Summary: Steve is too focused sketching he doesn’t notice when Bucky comes back from work.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	Yes, Sir

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I are in a stucky mood so here we are. I’m also weak for pre serum stucky so this is pre war as well. Unbeta’d like always, but also because I’m half asleep.

Steve couldn’t afford the high quality paper or pencils but he made do with the tools he had; sketching in the corners of napkins and paychecks when he could. Bucky had offered on numerous accusations to purchase them for him, but he declined it before Bucky could begin his rant of how Steve needed them to work. 

Frankly no. He did not need handouts, least of all from his best friend turned roommate turned boyfriend. Steve could get by on his own, thank you very much. And it wasn’t like they were relying on his pieces for income, he had a day job at the diner and Bucky took odd jobs whenever he could. 

They weren’t rich by any means, but they were no longer living paycheck to paycheck like in the old days. Steve still caught the flu every year like clockwork, but they were no longer struggling to keep him alive. There were rumors of war coming but until then, he wanted to enjoy his days off sketching at window.

The early evening light drifted in from the open window. It was late in the summer but there was still a warm breeze every now and then. He could wear short sleeves without shivering in his seat or messing up his sketches. 

Recently, a kind artist at the diner had gifted him a charcoal pencil when she saw the edges of his hand coated with the more inexpensive stuff. “You an artist?” she had asked him, to which he looked confused before nodding. “Well clearly you aren’t a high priced one. Why don’t you let me give you one of these?” She had held up a case of old charcoal pencils, all of which were used to some degree, but she had given him one of the newer ones. “Here, take this and make something pretty.” Steve had wanted to decline her offer but she left the diner, tipping heavily, before he could give her back the pencil. 

Now being an honest man, Steve did go out and make something pretty. He was filling in the effortless disheveled hair, sharpening the corner of those magnetizing eyes and sketching the knee weakening smile of the man. The front door swung open and in came an exhausted James Buchanan Barnes. 

“Steve, you up?” came the gravelly voice, deep from a long day of hauling crates up and down a hill.

“In here!” Steve yelled at the man, not moving from his stop next to the window. 

“What are you doing, punk?” the taller man asked, rubbing at his eyes the color of crystal clear skies, and blue jay feathers. 

“Fighting in the war as a captain,” he replied in a snarky tone, not looking up when Bucky entered the room. 

“When that happens, call the funeral home for me, I don’t think I could take it.” 

Steve finally looked up only to chuck an eraser at Bucky’s head. The man caught it with ease, throwing it back to Steve. He on the other hand caught it with his face. “Damn it, jerk!” 

“Haha, you should’ve caught it,” Bucky laughed, the sound the song of angels. 

“How was work?” Steve changed the subject, still caught up with being assaulted by his own eraser. 

“Same old, same old,” Bucky breathed out a sigh. “Donny wants me to work the weekends as well. Told him I had to spend it with a lady I met by the island.”

Steve froze at that. Their relationship wasn’t exactly one they shared with the world or anything but there was always the feeling of dread that Bucky would find someone new and better in every way. Who wouldn’t want his Bucky?

“Stop giving me that look,” Bucky suddenly spoke in his working ear. He didn’t know when the man moved from the doorway to the window sill but it was a testament to how much he was in his own head. “I’m spending the weekend with you, punk,” he said softly, his hot breath brushing against Steve’s ear. 

“You smell like a sewer, Buck,” Steve exclaimed, scrunching up his nose in disgust. 

Bucky being the complete and utter child he is pulled Steve up by the waist and held onto him for dear life. His arms were wrapped around Steve tightly in a death grip, pulling him to his feet and even then his toes didn’t touch the ground. “BUCK!” 

“What did you say?” Bucky chuckled deeply, the sound vibrating through him and into Steve. “Say it to my face, punk.” He manhandled Steve into wrapping his legs around the older man’s waist, snaking his arms around Bucky’s neck to hold on. 

“You stink, jerk,” Steve said to the five o’clock shadow on Bucky’s face. Said man only laughed, rubbing his stubble into Steve’s neck. He resisted a laugh but Bucky was unrelenting. 

“Why don’t you help me clean off then?” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows, his hands sliding down his back to hold Steve up by his ass. 

“In your dreams.” 

“Always.” Bucky leaned in to plant his lips on Steve’s. Steve met him half way and cranked his neck upwards, pressing his slightly chapped lips against Bucky’s warmth. His hand shot up to the brunette’s, his fingers tugging on the short locks. 

Bucky squeezed his ass like the devil he was, causing Steve to gasp. The brunette took this as the opportunity to slide his tongue into Steve’s mouth, slow enough to pull more moans out of the smaller man. 

“Bucky,” Steve groaned, pulling back for air.

“Hmm?” Bucky hummed, lowering his head for Steve’s soft neck. He pulled at the skin on Steve’s collar, nipping enough to leave a mark but not to hurt the man. 

“You really need a shower though.” 

Bucky maneuvered them onto the old couch, the springs creaking at the weight. “Later,” he mouthed at Steve’s neck, marking him up and down. He ran his hand through the blonde’s hair, his other hand on Steve’s hips. 

Groaning, Steve pushed Bucky back slightly. The calm blue skies of his eyes were now a brewing storm just waiting to thunder down a shower. “Go clean yourself now or you can forget about this weekend,” Steve commanded with a stern tone, glaring at the taller man with a look that could kill. 

“Yes, sir.” Bucky left him on the couch, stripping on his way to the bathroom. He dropped his clothes as he walked and Steve had to mentally scream. Bucky was lucky he didn’t call Winnifred and inform her about the pig that her son had become. Fortunately for Bucky, Steve trailed behind him, picking up his clothes. He was his boyfriend for goodness sake, not his housekeeper. Bucky was definitely going to be getting a punishment for this.


End file.
